God Felt

Katy's poem on the Incarnation from last year's creative writing course. I like it.

God Felt

God's Self poured into the form of man--

Word to Flesh. Universe's Splendor confined

In mortal shell--Son of God. Son of man.

Spirit fused with bone

And blood.  Forsook well-deserved Paradise.

Planted His feet on fingertip-molded

Globe, touched Creation and Felt:

Dirt caked between toes

and rain of prostitute's tears swirling into mud.

Leper's mangled skin melting

into smooth under His fingertips.

Tickle of salt-sweat tumbling down skin.

Cracked-dry tongue pleading for wet

And scratching of vacant stomach.

Pain of friend's death

and hot tears of agony sliding down face.

Severed Roman ear sticky with coppery blood

Then reunited with trembling body.

Nail sinking into skin and embedding

In wood beneath. Fellowship of Father

Refused. Piercing pain of Trinity

Split.

Droplets of moisture gathering

on stone sepulcher thick with Dark and

Silence.

Crashing of Stone shattered. Cave

Flooded with torrent

of light. Victory of Death

Crushed. Creation.

Redeemed through the beams of the Son.

Snow chicks

I used to laugh at my mom who would get giddy when all of her "chicks" would come home. I don't laugh at her anymore, only with her, understanding now her delight.  Michael came home on Thursday and it is sheer pleasure to have a full house again, to set 6 places at the table, to hear how Katy, Abigail, and Daniel's personalities change, or maybe become more full, when they are all together. I have thanked God over and over again for the treasure that they are to me, and have thanked Ed repeatedly for entrusting these kiddos to me. 

We've had wonderful snow, Thursday and again today, at least a foot. So, even Michael and grumpy riser Abigail woke up early today to shovel and head out, snowboards tied down and bodies bundled up, trying to beat the crowd at Poiana. It's an amazing thing to be surrounded by people zipping by on their skis and snowboards, and yet feel like we're the only ones there. So it was today, but we hope to go back Monday when everyone else is working and really be the only ones around!

Ed said, after Katy and Daniel's close call with the head clonking, "That does it, we're getting helmets." Some of us whined and others began planning their outfits. In the end, all of us got them, and we think we all look good.  Michael even brought me a new jacket for Christmas to match my baby blue Barbie-ish helmet. (I think they were embarrassed with my previous outfit.) 

Katy, Daniel, and Abi zipping down. Michael is the photographer this time.
And, though we're really too old to be doing this, Ed and I have fun, too. The amazing thing is that our kids want us to come with them. I guess we're not too embarrassing and maybe not too old, either.
He looks Air Force doesn't he?

Crossing cultures part 2

This time last year we were killing a pig. Saturday morning I woke up to the squeal-the death squeal. You can't imagine how unsettling that noise it. It's a familiar sound these days, though. I read the other day that it's one thing the EU law enforcers may be willing to overlook when it comes to Romania complying to their codes of both sanitation and animal rights. It was reported that 1.5 million pigs will be slaughtered in backyards this Christmas in Romania. That's a lot of people to make angry if that traditions is taken away.

Traditionally, Romanians kill a pig a few days or weeks before Christmas and feast for the holidays. They don't just eat ham, tenderloin, roast...Their delicacies include toba (the parts that would likely be thrown away by most of us but are instead boiled and stuffed inside the stomach and smoked); piftea (similar parts, i.e. ears, feet, snout...boiled into a gelatin; a meat jello, if you can picture it); pateu (liver, heart, tongue... ground and then baked like a meatloaf). And then they do the more subdued dishes like sausage stuffed in the intestines; tenderloin wrapped in sausage and then wrapped again with the parataneam (you remember from biology class, the lacy net that holds the organs together).

So, from the sound of that pig, our neighbors have been busy, cutting, burning, boiling, stuffing and anxiously awaiting the feast to come. How do I know? We did it last year.

"Entering in" is what we're called to do. We did with this extremely traditional and cultural event last year. It put us on the inside as we visited people throughout the season, exchanging pig cutting (that's what they call it) stories. I think they were surprised and grateful that we shared their lives in that way.

So this year, we've chosen to spare our stomachs and the pig, trusting that our efforts from last year will suffice.

Crossing cultures

First of all, I am guilty. When I suggested that we start a blog, Ed warned me that it takes nothing to start a blog; keeping it up is the challenge.  He was right.  So, since last post, lots really has happened. Maybe that takes at least part of the blame for my negligence.  Let's see to fill in the gaps with the big events...in the last month Katy and I have been to Mississippi to visit Millsaps and Belhaven college; Ed, Katy and I were in Atlanta for 2 different sets of meetings together, and Ed had a third without us; I had a root canal; Ed had a tube put in his ear; Ed was diagnosed with a skin-eating disease on his elbow (which a high dosage of antibiotics has cured...we hope); we had the Watnes in our home for several days and celebrated Thanksgiving with our entire team, minus Nena who was in the States; Ed and I went to London for an IPC presbytery meeting. And this is all in between the normal events of our lives: a late night discussion around the kitchen table with Danez, Monica, and Simona about marriage and relationships; weekly phone meetings for me with Melania and Ed with Daniel (pastor and his wife in Tirgiu Jiu); Ed's weekly 4-5 hour meetings with Danez, Razvan and Erwin; weekly prayer meeting and our monthly day of prayer and fasting with the team; music lessons; art lessons; a sleepover with Jessalyn Ebbers; weekly wine and games with Angela and Traian, that last week turned into fish soup and liver (see next blog); weekly meetings with the pastors with whom we're working; regular email maintenance; Ed's meetings with a couple whose marriage is in crisis, a man whose wife is dying of cancer, and a couple whose 21 year old daughter recently died in a car accident... I wonder why we're tired. We've been talking lately about not growing weary, and I've been wrestling with the balance of working and resting. We're called to both; I find it challenging to maintain equilibrium between the two. Sovereignty of God and Responsibility of Man. That's been the running theme in our discussions as a family for the last few months. Labor...for it is God who works. Rest. Run. Be still. Work. Wait.  

We met with some friends of ours from El Salvador who have been in Romania for about 8 years. Their home culture is a lot more like Romanian culture than American culture is like either. I think for them, it's been an easier journey in some respects to adapt to this different lifestyle. As we discussed with Francisco our sense of being weary, his response was, "You're so American. So product oriented." I think he's right. We so want to see things happen, which is a good thing, but often forget that the "happening" isn't really dependent on us. Even after 2 1/2 years, I find it difficult to shake the desire to "do". Romania's culture is much more of a "be" lifestyle, which is refreshing. They typically don't live with agendas or schedules. The process is enjoyed as much as the product. The down side of this is that things don't generally (if ever) get done when we'd like. "Imediat" one would think means "immediately" and by definition it does; however, we've learned that the real meaning of the word is "whenever I get to it". So, we're reminded again that both are fallen cultures, in need of redemption from our over driven-ness and our excessive lack of it.